Her Brother's Keeper - eARC Page 24

  “Hey!” Daye said, interrupting her daydreaming. “Focus, kid. Hand me that fastener.”

  “Oh, right,” Annie said, embarrassed. “Where to next?”

  Daye looked at his eyepiece and frowned. “Upper level latrine is backed up. Ugh.”

  “Shit,” Annie said. Daye laughed.

  * * *

  Using a bit of aerobraking to slow to descent speed, the Andromeda circled the little blue planet of Opal one last time before retracting her primary radiators and plunging, tail-first, into the atmosphere. While there was no shortage of terrestrial planets in explored space, worlds with fully developed ecosystems were rare. This sometimes caused them to be ruled out as candidates for colonization, due to the difficulties in getting Earth life to adapt. Opal was an exception to this rule, though its colony of determined settlers was small and isolated.

  Scans from the Andromeda’s sensors showed a world teeming with life. The poles were buried under massive ice caps, and three-quarters of the surface was covered in shallow oceans and warm seas. Opal seemed to lack the frighteningly deep oceans of Earth and Avalon, but nonetheless supported an abundance of marine life. The dense atmosphere easily slowed the ship to a safe landing speed high over the trading post’s tiny spaceport. In a spectacular cloud of smoke and flame, the Andromeda lowered herself onto one of the spaceport’s two launch pads, and settled onto her landing jacks with a deep, metallic groan.

  The nameless human colony on Opal was some twenty kilometers away from the traders’ spaceport, a tiny outcropping of civilization in a clearing of the extremely dense flora. It was surrounded on all sides by a tangled jungle of plant life that resembled terrestrial trees, save for their bluish tint and odd bioluminescence. Puffy white clouds filled an intensely blue sky, as the world basked in the yellow-orange light of the system’s star. The only paved road on the entire planet connected the lonely colony to the trading post, and no traffic could be seen on it.

  The colony itself was a crowded, sprawling cluster of boxy, prefabricated buildings that had been added onto over the years, repainted, or rebuilt completely. The largest structures by far were the domed greenhouses in which the colonists raised their staple crops of soy, wheat, barley, rice, and beans. Its common areas appeared neat and clean on telemetry, with residents going to and fro on their daily business. Every building’s door seemed to function as a sort of airlock, keeping climate-controlled, filtered air inside so humans could live more comfortably.

  Outside the small city, partially covered in vines and plants, was the towering, skeletal hulk of the ship which had brought the colonists to Opal more than a century before. It had been stripped for building materials and supplies over the years, but its primary spaceframe remained. Standing some eighty meters tall, it towered ominously over the settlement, and was now home to native flora and fauna of many types. The thick, humid atmosphere of Opal had long since rusted the exposed metals that were vulnerable to corrosion, but the primary spherical structure of the ship remained largely intact. Her main hull was a great metal ball, fifty meters in diameter, sitting on top of a large cluster of engines, fins, landing jacks, and support structures. A large flock of flying creatures were frightened out of the stripped vessel as the Andromeda set down at the spaceport.

  The arriving privateer ship wasn’t the only vessel presently at the spaceport. Five hundred meters away, on the other landing pad, stood a mid-sized free trader with a pointed nose and a bulbous hull. Her transponder listed her as the Armed Merchant Cutter Ascalon, registered out of the Llewellyn Freehold. Catherine sent the Ascalon’s skipper a courtesy message. She kept the details of her mission to herself, but discretely inquired as to whether the merchant cutter had been to Zanzibar.

  A few moments after sending her greeting, as her ship was being spun down, she received a brief text message from the Ascalon. It was an invitation to her captain’s cabin for dinner. It was customary for ship’s officers to have dinners with one another, but this usually included the first officers at least. This invitation, on the other hand, was for the captain alone, and was to be a private affair with the Ascalon’s skipper. Before sending a reply, Catherine consulted her first officer via text message, not wanting the junior officers on the command deck to overhear.

  Wolfram von Spandau replied quickly, in his usual terse style: I do not like this. If you meet with him, I wish to go with you.

  Catherine replied: That’s not what he’s asking. He wants to have a private dinner with me.

  Perhaps he imagines himself irresistible to women? Wolfram typed. He will be disappointed, if that is the case.

  Catherine chuckled to herself. I don’t actually know if their captain is a man. It could be a woman. I could meet the love of my life over there.

  The executive officer was less optimistic. Or you could be held for ransom. Such things are not unheard of out here on the frontier. This so-called merchantman could easily be a pirate.

  Catherine grinned widely as she typed, her command crew oblivious to the nature of her conversation. My goodness, captured and ravaged by a pirate queen! I believe I’ve seen that video before. Do you suppose I’ll be tied up as well? I think I might fancy that. She could almost feel Wolfram blushing through the text interface. Sparing her XO the effort of coming up with an awkward response, she continued: In all seriousness, how about this: I will go over there and meet with him. Instead of wearing my frilliest space damsel dress, I’ll wear my regular flight suit. I’ll take a sidearm, as that’s customary anyway. Perhaps their captain isn’t a presumptuous lecher—perhaps he just wants to share some information, and doesn’t want his crew to hear too much. Not all spacers are as reliable as mine.

  Wolfram von Spandau took a few moments to type his response. Very well. Please be cautious. I will see to the replenishment of our remass tanks and set up a maintenance rotation while we’re dirtside, as we discussed. Three local days will be more than enough time for the maintenance. The crew can get off the ship for a time and waste their money at the trading post.

  There is one last thing, Catherine typed. While I see to this, I want you to run an emergency drill on the crew. Hostile natives threatening the ship in port. We’ve been underway for a long time. They’re tired and won’t be expecting it.

  I agree, Wolfram typed. It will give Mr. Winchester a chance to organize his people on the fly as well.

  Very good, Catherine typed. Start the drill in one hour. I want the crew ready to defend the ship until it can be brought back up for launch. Notify traffic control, Mr. Broadbent, and Mr. Winchester of the drill, but no one else. The ship is yours.

  Logging off and shutting down her command console, Catherine stood up and stretched. “Mr. Azevedo,” she said, “I have business to attend to. Herr von Spandau has the ship. The command deck is yours.”

  * * *

  Showered and refreshed, Catherine made her way down to the Andromeda’s cargo deck. She wore a fresh flight suit and her genuine leather flight jacket, with a gun-belt around her narrow waist. The large ventral cargo bay doors were opened, connected and sealed to the spaceport’s landing tower. Down the ramp was an elevator that led to the base of the landing tower. From there, a series of underground tunnels connected the various areas of the spaceport and trading post, so that travelers could move from one area to the next without having to brave the sweltering climate outside. The dense atmosphere made it difficult for those unaccustomed to it to work, and the humidity level was always murderously high.

  The spaceport’s underground tunnels were well lit, but practically deserted. A small, three-wheeled electric scooter was available for rent for a small fee. As Catherine rolled along the tunnel connecting the Andromeda’s landing pad to the Ascalon’s, she didn’t see another soul. The only activity was a couple of service robots going about their appointed tasks. Soothing mood music played over speakers and resonated off of the bare block walls.

  The landing tower that led to the cargo bay of the Ascalon was identical to
the one Catherine had come down when leaving her own ship. As she made her way up the ramp, she saw quite a bit of activity in the merchant ship’s cavernous cargo bay. An alarm chirped as she approached, and the crew members inside took notice of her.

  “Good evening,” she said crisply. “I am Captain Catherine Blackwood of the privateer ship Andromeda. Your skipper was gracious enough to invite me to your ship. Permission to come aboard?”

  A waifishly thin crewmember in a red coverall spoke up. “I am Cargomaster Mearl,” he (or perhaps she; Catherine couldn’t really tell) said. “We have been expecting you. Permission granted, Captain. Welcome aboard the armed merchant cutter Ascalon.” The androgynous cargomaster had very pale skin, a shaved head, and never set down the tablet he/she was holding. Behind him/her, the cargo bay was stacked with shipping containers of goods, all secured and balanced so as not to throw off the ship’s center of gravity. From the looks of things, the Ascalon would be leaving Opal soon.

  “Your ship is impressive,” Catherine said. “I can see you run a most efficient cargo deck. I’ve visited a lot of merchant ships, and have seen few in such impeccable shape. I assume you’re departing soon?”

  Mearl perked up and actually smiled at Catherine’s offhand flattery. “Thank you, Captain. Indeed. Our launch window is in a matter of hours.” He/she turned and waved toward another crewman. “This is Cargo Tech Samuel. He will take you to see the captain.”

  The hulking crewman stood in stark contrast to his supervisor. He towered over Catherine, his dark skin rippling with muscles. “Please follow me,” he said tersely, his deep voice booming. “Our captain is waiting.”

  The Ascalon was large enough that it had a small lift running up its centerline. The Andromeda, in comparison, had no such luxuries; the crew had to use ladders to traverse between decks. The merchant vessel was rather larger than the Andromeda, but unless it had a surprisingly potent engine cluster, Catherine suspected it wasn’t nearly as capable. The Andromeda could pull ten gravities of acceleration under full afterburner; a ship like the Ascalon probably couldn’t do half that. The two ships were designed for very different roles—much of the Andromeda’s internal volume was used for redundant systems, armament, and armor. As a merchant cutter, though, the Ascalon was impressive.

  A tinny robotic voiced announced that the lift had stopped at the officers’ quarters deck. Saumel led Catherine through a narrow, circular corridor, lined with doors to small cabins for the ship’s officers. Each appeared to be as big as Catherine’s personal quarters, and a four such cabins ringed this deck of the ship.

  One of the cabins had an ornate door, and seemed to be larger than the other three. Samuel banged on the hatch three times, then stood up straight, hands folded behind his back. With a clank and a hiss, the door slid open, and he spoke up. “Cargo Tech Samuel reporting, sir. I am escorting Captain Catherine Blackwood of the Andromeda. I believe you are expecting her.”

  A cheery male voice spoke up from inside the cabin. “Send her in, please!” Samuel stood aside, nodding as Catherine stepped past him and entered the cabin. “Welcome aboard the Ascalon, Captain,” the ship’s skipper said. “I’m so pleased that you accepted my offer.” He was an average-looking man with an average build, red hair, a red goatee, and freckles. He stood at the far side of a small table. Like his crewmembers, he was dressed in a dark red coverall, though over it he wore a more formal tunic with four gold bands around the cuffs of each sleeve. “I am Captain Matthew Atkins of the Llewellyn Freehold.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Catherine said, stepping across the cabin to shake his hand. Captain Atkins seemed to have his own private dining area, another decadent luxury the Andromeda had no room for. “Your ship is most impressive.”

  Captain Atkins brimmed with pride. “Isn’t she? So many free traders are little more than tramp cruisers in poor condition, crewed by shady individuals. Then they wonder why they can’t get contracts with the big corporations and colonial governments! My predecessor ran a tight ship. Matt, he would always say, a ship’s got to be in shipshape! It’s hokey but it’s true.” He paused, before motioning to Catherine to sit. “Please, Captain, have a seat. You’ll get me talking if you ask me about my ship!”

  Catherine smiled at him. She didn’t think she was in any danger of getting abducted (nor in any danger of getting ravaged by a lusty pirate queen), and Captain Atkins seemed unusually personable for a Freeholder. “If I may ask, why all the secrecy?”

  “Ah,” he said. “Wine? Water?” He poured Catherine a glass as he continued. “Many of my crew are new hires from the Freehold. They can be a rather mercenary bunch. You asked me about Zanzibar, so I thought we’d have a private conversation, face-to-face, captain to captain. Discretion is part of my professional code.”

  “I certainly understand,” Catherine said, sipping her wine.

  “Dinner should be ready shortly. I hope you like roast chicken?”

  “I do.”

  “Then you’ll really like this. It’s an actual chicken my men acquired.”

  “From the colony?”

  “No, from the trading post. The locals don’t raise livestock. But it’s not dehydrated, frozen, or otherwise preserved.”

  Catherine thought for a moment. “The locals don’t raise livestock?”

  “You don’t know? I suppose the information available about this place is pretty sparse. The colonists are all strict vegans, by law. All they eat are the plants and nuts they grow in their greenhouses. The consumption of meat, fish, or animal products is forbidden. Rumor has it they put people to death for it.”

  “That’s insane,” Catherine said.

  Captain Atkins could only nod. “It’s just a rumor. I’m sure they’d be unhappy if they found out we were eating meat in here, though there’s nothing they can do about it. These people have been isolated on this rock for over a century. Until this trading post opened up, maybe forty local years ago, they were completely cut off from the rest of inhabited space.”

  “How in the world did they sustain themselves on such an inhospitable planet?”

  “Their original colonization mission was intended to be long term. Their ship, the one rusting away to the north of the settlement? They completely stripped it for parts and equipment. The ship’s fusion reactor was moved, and now powers the colony. Compared to fusion rockets, the colony doesn’t need very much power, so they leave it more or less in standby mode. With a minimum of maintenance, it can run for a very long time like that.”

  “One of my crew spent some time here a few years ago. He told me the colonists on Opal were strange.”

  “Oh, they’re an odd bunch all right. Their colony is a commune. Everyone pitches in to the best of his ability, and is in turn given what he needs to survive. There’s no money, no private property, and no taxes.”

  “I see. And who decides who needs and gets what?”

  Captain Atkins chuckled. “That is the rub, isn’t it? They call them the Elders. They run the show here. Really reclusive bunch. Supposedly they’re the living survivors of the original colonial mission. They’d have to be really, really old for that to be the case, but I suppose it’s possible. They make the laws, and they have so-called Peacekeepers to enforce them. But mostly people abide by the laws without the threat of force. They’re indoctrinated from the time they’re children, taken from their parents, raised in communal crèches. This whole colony is basically a cult, except they’re not religious.”

  “The trading post…they’re Freeholders as well?”

  “Yes. Not affiliated with my business, and believe me I don’t get any kind of a discount for being from the same home port. There’s just enough traffic coming through this system these days to make it worthwhile.”

  “Trade from the Orlov Combine, I assume?”

  Captain Atkins took a long sip of his wine. “I don’t like dealing with the Combine. I know what they are, you know. But their raw materials are good, and they’re cheap. The profit margi
ns are too big to pass up.”

  “If I may ask, what are you doing on Opal?”

  “Same as you, I suspect. Stocking up on remass and supplies. I do trade with the colonists here. I have a contact and, before you ask, I’m not inclined to share.”

  Catherine smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Not my sort of contract, really. But what do you trade? The information I have is vague.”

  “The trinkets the natives make fetch a pretty credit from collectors. But the real money here is in the wood.”

  “Wood?”

  “It’s not technically wood, I suppose. The flora that fills the role of trees on Opal aren’t really trees, in strict biological terms. But their hides, the bark, wood, whatever you want to call it, is beautiful.” He reached behind him and produced a small box. Inside was a sample of the plant matter. It had rich, deep, purple coloration, and swirled with intricate patterns and grains. It dimly glowed indigo.

  “It is beautiful,” Catherine said, touching it lightly. It felt like finely polished wood. “Did you finish this?”

  “That’s the real beauty of it, Captain,” Captain Atkins said. “This is just a sample cut from a pseudo-tree. The texture and color varies widely from breed to breed, but a lot of them are just as lovely. The bioluminescence lasts for years, even after the sample has been cut from the tree, so long as it’s exposed to UV light daily.”

  “I can see how selling this would be profitable. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I’ve got a deal worked out with the colonists. I bring them supplies they need, mostly from Orlov’s Star, and they let me take wood and trinkets. It’s all kept on the down-low, of course. The trading post gets a cut of the profits. Apart from my ship, there are only one or two others that have such a deal worked out, and it’s good money. It’s the secret that makes this place profitable.”

  A rap on the hatch announced that dinner was served. Catherine hadn’t smelled fresh roast anything since leaving New Austin. The scent of the chicken was almost intoxicating as two crewmen set the table. After they excused themselves, she dug in greedily, savoring every bite of her meal. The vegetables were fresh as well. It was glorious.